Ode to Bacon

in all its glory,
saturated in nitrates,
in long greasy strips,
sliced razor thin pancetta,
organic, hickory smoked
fatback, the glory of
fatback.

yawns

they started yawning
between clenched teeth,
behind a casually raised hand,
in full view of family members,
in their rooms behind closed
doors, in exhaustion
until sleep overcame
them.

The Scholar and the Flycatcher

The Scholar looked on in horror

at the Flycatcher, her mouth gaping

and snapping at passing flies,

she smiles following a successful

catch, a crunchy snack followed by

a swig of cool water.

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summa cum laude

woman.
noun.
young woman.
adjective and noun.
summa cum laude Noun;
noun adorned by adjectives,  propelled by verbs,
holding her own secrets between parentheses,
starting down her own path with a preposition,
if needed,
a semicolon in her back pocket
in case she needs to add another
thought to that one;
she always has something
else to say.

black gowns: graduation at harvard

why black
on such sunny days,
their sweat runs in streams
down their shirts, into their socks
yet their faces are covered in
roses, their hair
glistening as
water flows
in mountain
streams
into the
crystal clarity
of their minds.

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Washing Water Bottles in the Park

like flowers in the park,
all colors; red, green, blue,
white, yellow and magenta
they stood in rows lined up like soldiers
waiting to dive into cleansing
waters, then drying like sunbathers
only to be stacked in cardboard
boxes, hoarded away until next
spring when flowers bloom
in reds, greens, blues and white,
bike racers flinging them into
fields fresh with the new growth
of spring.

One of the chores following a bike race (when you are the sponsor) is cleaning bike bottles to store for next year.  We washed about 700 bottles in this session, and recycled about 300.  Next year we have to make sure there are more than 3 1/2 of us to do this! 

Napping in Hugo, CO

she naps while the wind howls on the plains,
the single pane windows flex and whine along
their cheap metal tracks, pebbles ricochet like
shot off the metal siding.
she may have rolled over so as not to see
the hundreds of bike racers pass by,
parched and broken by the wind.
she may have turned off her phone so
as to not hear any calls for help.
she naps in the afternoon, finally
arousing herself, reminded again
that the world never
naps.

Teach Me to Pray

he seldom smiled
even when she was a little girl
and climbed in his lap, pressing
her soft cheek against his grizzled beard,
when her mother brought him his favorite vice,
heavily sweetened iced tea and Ritz crackers;
he was a dour fellow,
one of great judgment,
of small joy
until he came to that place
where death faced him and no one
was there but his little girl, now a grown
woman who has broken all his strict rules
in her own loving ways; she comes
before him in peace and
he says to her, please teach me
to pray. I am so
afraid.

Thank you for MH for sharing her story.  I'm sure I have done no justice to it except for the final lines, which are indeed the most powerful.

photo courtesy of http://media.photobucket.com/image/praying%20hands/SahuShanti/praying-hands.jpg?o=47

Cooking up a Poem

I
check the refrigerator for
a poem, not too stale,
no mold on top, preferably
somewhat fresh.
Chopped onions.
perfect.

Le Poeme Goes on Vacation

to graduation ceremonies,
countries across the sea, traversing
expanses of vineyards via bicycle,
or in the cabin of a high speed train.
a night spent under star filled skies,
a break from nightly ritual at the dinette,
an occasional postcard from
far away places.

Hail

small pellets of hail
tear fresh tenderness of
new tomatoes, just
ventured outside from
dank and dingy basements;
their fragile lives torn
to bits.

Sleep

in dreamless sleep
the world stops mid-sentence
babies fall asleep
smoke rising from a cigarette
plummets to the ground;
the smoker flings
away that which kills him.
we sleep so actively,
babies are crying,
men are smoking,
the world is burning.

Three Words

a man of few words,
only three of them in
a certain order, a certain
intensity,as he
took in her eyes,
her beauty.

HItting the Backspace Key

he marvels at
such rapid typing
peering over at her,
he notices
how often she hits
the backspace
key.

Poems after a daughter

no extra words
beyond the necessary
flour, water and yeast
to bake a loaf of bread
late at night.

The Leaky Aquarium

The water level in the aquarium is dropping, a line
of droplets oozing out onto the dinette.
first the print on the credit card bill bleeds into illegibility.
that’s great if I don’t have to pay it.
next, the calendar showing all my travel dates sticks to the
dinette, the pencil marks hidden beneath waves of blue ink.
not so great if that means I don’t get to travel.
the goldfish look grumpy as their tank slowly builds up toxic waste levels so that soon
they will croak if I don’t do something soon.
great if you don’t want pet goldfish,
not so great if you want to keep the pet goldfish alive.
I’m deciding.

The Importance of Teeth in Happy Living

teeth are better when they are in your mouth
than in a dentist’s pliers like C’s tooth was today,
or ground away, only to disappear into
the vacuum in the dentist office, like S’s tooth.
and so they spend the rest of their day in a grimace,
grumbling at having to eat ice cream for lunch and dinner,
or only being able to drink ice cold margaritas.

Photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/haizi-hyg/3449743960/

Cecile and Buddy

she really didn’t like dogs,
she thought, remembering all
the times they left a wet swatch
on her new pants, right at the crotch.
out of control, invasive and kind of gross,
until one day she found out she
could control a dog far more
easily than a child.
maybe they are
not so bad
after all.

Mother's Day

to become a mother is to
become inextricably enmeshed,
at times unwillingly, at times
joyously with the ones
who emerged form our bodies,
crying out for their first breath
in this new world of light
and sound.
there is no day, no hour
from this moment forward
where our hearts beat in solitude,
no matter where in the world
they are, our hearts beat
for and with them.

Breaking Resolutions and Poetry Tidbits

All poets start by writing tidbits,
which are then sieved and mixed again
with other tidbits, gradually building
flavor and richness, through the careful
and patient process of
stirring, chilling, re-sieving and tasting again;
only then does a tidbit become a Poem.
Not being such a dedicated cook,
I make tidbits and break
resolutions.

The Last Hurrah

a blog
of poetry
prompted by an idea,
a place, a thing, a person,
the dinette where she sat for
eighteen years, the first several
from underneath examining old
chewing gum and scribbles by
other children she never knew.
she sits at a table many miles
away, remembering and
writing.

Check out Karen and Andrea's blog:   http://www.thelastmonthatharvard.wordpress.com/

nopoemtoday

a hypnotist
hypnotised me
putting me into
a hypnotic state,
no poem
emerged.

Growing Spoons

the children take them to school in lunches;
Mother puts one in her bag to eat her yogurt later;
a few disappear into the garbage disposal only
to emerge with edges sharp enough to cut
unwary lips slipping along its concavity,
(immersed in the pleasure of ice cream slipping
off the spoon onto an eager tongue).
Simply put, spoons disappear.
Just as one grows leeks and onions from sets,
so can spoons be grown this way;
starting from tiny spoons bought from
your local garden center, they grow from
teaspoons to tablespoons over the summer;
they do not freeze over the winter
and ladles may be harvested in
spring.

People on the Bike Path III: The Man with the Shopping Bags

Every season, he changes shopping bags.
Last winter, he carried Whole Foods bags,
neatly loaded so that the bottom was still
square and the sides were straight.
His arms extend fully under their weight,
pulling his shoulders and his gaze to the
ground where it always stays; he never looks
up at the sky or at the people that see him every
day, even though he does not see them.
This Spring, he carries new Vitamin Cottage
bags, neatly loaded so that bottom is still square.
The black fabric is taut, unlikely to last this season.
Sunflower Market sells pink ones
to commemorate Breast Cancer Awareness Week,
but they would not match his brown socks,
his black headphones or grey demeanor.

Alone in the Dark

Perfectly normal people

whisper behind closed doors
about what they have seen
or heard, what they believe,
but have never told anyone
before tonight until they told
you.

A door swings open
and two perfectly normal
people walk out, no longer
afraid to whistle alone
in the dark.